


Denial is a river

by Treegona



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blatantly non-canonical, Gen, Injury Recovery, bc screw canon.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treegona/pseuds/Treegona
Summary: Molly wakes.





	Denial is a river

**Author's Note:**

> I am not even going to pretend this isn't wishful thinking. I'm blatantly ignoring actual canon bc I can't. They say the first stage of grief is denial and I'm in a fucking swimsuit, so let's take a dive. 
> 
> Kinda ship-y if you squint, but not that much.
> 
> Unbeta'd, we die like critters.  
>  ~~hahahah~~

A ghasp racks Molly as he awakens. For a moment there's fear. Fear of the dark, fear that he's lost _everything_ again. But that fear in and of itself is a reassurance. If he'd lost everything, the circus, Yasha, the Nein, he wouldn't fear losing them.

The second reassurance comes when he's pushed back down. There's enough room for him to move and enough room for someone to push him with their hands. Molly's shoulders hit the ground and pain positively _blossoms_ across his body. From his horns to his toes, ever _cell_ of his body hurts.

Pain, then, is the third signifier that this time's different. For all that Molly had to fight his way to his weird pseudo-birth, he hadn't _actually_ been hurt, then. He is now. The numbness of ignorance has vanished and every move hurts. Breathing aggravates the burning that is his torso, so Molly stops. 

Not three seconds after Molly stops breathing there are more hands, touching his neck, lightly smacking his face. Molly groans and breathes again. He opens his eyes to find that the darkness was as much him having his eyes closed as it is the absence of daylight. The hands retreat from his skin but return shortly with a wet rag.

Slowly, sounds begin to drift to Molly, likely not because the sounds only just started but because Molly just couldn't hear before. Someone is talking, it sounds like. Molly can't understand what's being said or even what language it is, but there's only one voice so he assumes they're talking at him. 

The cold cloth moves from his face to his neck, chills him and cleans sweat he knows of only by its absence. Still, the cloth is too cold for comfort and he hisses at the touch. 

The cloth disappears, but a face comes into Molly's sight. Unfortunately, Molly can't make his eyes focus on his nurse's face. But between the red hair and masculine voice, Molly can hazard a guess. 

"Where... the others?" Speaking is a special kind of awful, but he has to know. Where's Nott, Beau? Did they save Yasha, Jester and Ford? Where's Keg? Probably-Caleb starts talking, but Molly can't understand. Though the language is recognizably common, Caleb's speaking too quickly. "Slow down." he manages. Not knowing hurts so much more than the physical agony of speaking. He has to know.

"Beau, Nott and Keg are talking to Frau Mardun, trying to get more support." Caleb says, slow enough for Molly to follow. 

"Yasha?" But Caleb shakes his head.

"We'll have to try again." Caleb says "It would have been best if we could save Yasha and the others now, but at least we're all alive. At least we can try again."

When Molly can finally make himself focus it's on Caleb's tired but relieved smile. They might have lost this battle, but the war isn't over.


End file.
